Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba, Father”. Galatians 4:6
For all of its absurdities, social media has its positives. Case in point: at no other time in history have we been able to instantly connect and plug into the lives of hundreds (maybe thousands) of people in our “social network”. As a result of this new-found access to one another, we’re given somewhat of a bird’s eye view on many of the complexities and dynamics of the lives around us.
Today is Father’s Day . . . and the evidence is all over my Facebook/Instagram feed. There are pictures everywhere of grandfathers, experienced fathers, and first time fathers. It’s a beautiful thing to see so many men honored and cherished for the significant roles they play in their loved ones lives. However, for all the people celebrating Father’s Day on social media, there are many who are not.
Tragically, a considerable amount of people in my network have lost or never had their father. For some, this Father’s Day marks the first of many they will experience without him. For others, this day is nothing but a reminder of the father who has never been there to celebrate. For me, it’s been 10 years since my father passed away. His absence has left a gaping hole in my life. Sadly, it’s a sentiment I share with many.
I once met a highly successful CEO who spoke openly with me about the loss of his father. He was in his early 50’s, responsible for the economic welfare of thousands, and renowned for his business acumen; yet, he admitted to me that he still reminisced of the moments when he could crawl into the safety and love of his father’s lap. It became evident to me that no matter what age we are, we will always have a need for a father.
We have an instinctive desire—beginning at the earliest stages of our consciousness—to reach out for someone that will keep us safe, who will provide, who we can trust, who will love us perfectly, who will always be there.
Interestingly, the passage above was originally written by Paul in Greek to Greek speaking people. However, the term “Abba” is Aramaic. Why would Paul use such language? What significance does it hold?
“Abba” means father; but in the intimate sense used by young children. The nearest equivalent in English would be Daddy or Papa. To put simply, in every language, when a child first begins to reach out for their father and mother they are given a name for their parent. The child will need something simple to say. In a sense, “Abba” is a part of all of our languages—it’s a simple term children use to call out to their parents like “da-da” or “ma-ma”.
Astonishingly, Paul is saying you can know God with all the confidence, intimacy, and trust with which a little child grabs a parent. He’s the one we are reaching out for.
But, why can we approach God as Father?
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus himself, the only begotten son of God, prayed to his Abba, Father for the “cup” of sorrow on the cross to be taken from him; and his request was turned down. (Mark 14:32-36). Jesus was the only person in history who deserved to have all of his prayers answered by the Father. Yet, he took our place so that we could share in the relationship that only he merits. (2 Cor 5:21). What He loses, we gain.
And, we gain the right to approach God as, Abba Father, because we are his children, adopted into sonship—a right we inherited from Jesus. (Romans 8:15). To the degree we can rest in that truth, it will fulfill our most instinctive desire: a heavenly Father who will love us perfectly, who delights in us, who is committed to our well-being and happiness, who rejoices in doing us good, who withholds no good thing, and who will never leave us.
As C.S. Lewis states:
“To please God . . . to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness . . . to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as . . . a father in a son—it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But so it is.”
So, if you’ve lost or never had a father, we have a God who is so committed to ending fatherlessness that he was willing to come into the world and be a part of that suffering himself. Christianity alone of all the religions tells us that God-incarnate lost a father in an unjust attack. Entering into such suffering Himself is proof that he cares and that he must have some good reason. Accordingly, I can say with Fyodor Dostoyevsky that:
“I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for . . . that in the world’s finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, for the comforting of all resentments, for the atonement of all the crimes of humanity, for all the blood that they’ve shed; that it will make it not only possible to forgive but to justify all that has happened.”
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Tim Keller writes that to call God Abba, Father “. . . signifies a confidence of love and assurance of welcome. Just as the young child simply assumes that a parent loves them and is there for them, and never doubts the security and openness of daddy’s strong arms, so Christians can have an overwhelming boldness and certainty that God loves them endlessly.”
It is important to understand that God is our intimate Father. For me, this too often tends to become just an abstract concept. However, it is one of the remarkable qualities that makes Christianity distinct from all other faiths and philosophies.
My hope and prayer is that we all can discover this father-son relationship more deeply and personally.
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FOR A SEARCHING SOUL
Many 19th and 20th century thinkers (e.g., Ludwig Feuerbach, Sigmund Freud) sought to undermine Christianity through the psychogenetic method. The argument goes something like this: human beings created God in their own image as a projection of their own needs and desires. For example, Freud argued that when we are children, we depend upon our fathers as strong protectors who provide. As we grow up, we discover that our fathers are not all-powerful and that they too have failures and weaknesses. In realizing the weaknesses of our fathers, we still have a psychological need for security and provision. So, we project our fathers into the “God our Father” giving ourselves the illusion of control.
A simple counter to the above is called the argument from desire. Per usual, C.S. Lewis says it best:
Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists. A baby feels hunger: well, there is such a thing as food. A duckling wants to swim: well, there is such a thing as water. Men feel sexual desire: well, there is such a thing as sex. If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.
To paraphrase Lewis, it’s a pretty strong indication that a thing exists if we have an innate desire for it. It would be a “very odd phenomenon” Lewis writes, if “falling in love occurred in a sexless world.” So, if “we remain conscious of a desire which no natural happiness will satisfy” it’s logical to conclude (or at least consider) that we were made for something more than this world has to offer. To hold the psychogenetic position seems to merely be an effort to comatose our awareness of something else . . . something transcendent.
Me and my father. I miss him everyday, but I’ll see him again
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